Red Grow the Apples
by justplainrii
Summary: When Light Yagami saves the life of mobster Ryuk, he finds himself in the man's favor, which includes the special privilege of Ryuk's men killing anyone Light deems questionable. Now with the famed Detective Lawliet on his tail, can Light stay sane?
1. Cider and Sin

_Some say that the reddest apples are the ones that grow in graveyards, where the trees are allowed to tap their roots into the blood and flesh of rotting corpses._

_Or so some say._

-///-

Light Yagami knew he was in trouble from the moment the ugly man pulled a pistol from his jacket and shot his attacker in the chest.

The attacker staggered for a moment, clutching at the bullet wound, groans and gurgles rattling out of his mouth. Light took a step back as the ugly man with the pistol took another shot, and then another, effectively and probably fatally wounding his attacker. He fell down, writhing a little. The ugly man approached him and gave an almost amused sneer with his sausage-like lips.

"Had your fun?" he asked, stepping on his attacker's chest. He groaned. "Good." The man promptly shot his attacker in the head, and removed his foot.

Light was horrified. Especially after the ugly man put the pistol back in his jacket, wrinkled his pig-like nose, and glanced in Light's direction with watery, yellow eyes. "Oh, sorry about that, kid," he said, in his almost grunt-like voice―there were a lot of things about this man that reminded Light of other things, almost none of them human or alive. "You didn't really have to see that."

Light gulped, regretting even stopping to help the man out, when he saw that he was being mugged in an alley.

He was just a 23-year-old reporter, barely out of college and pretty much the lowest of the low, when it came to the hierarchy of the newspaper corporation. He liked his job, but he still was under a lot of pressure from his father for not becoming a police officer. It _had _been expected of him, after all; but as much as Light hated crime, he hated dirtying his hands almost as much. He would much rather write about murders than actually have to investigate them.

The last thing he wanted was more pressure in his already stressful life, and any sort of involvement in a crime. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that this recent encounter with the ugly man (who was now approaching him) was going to give him both of those.

"Thanks for helping out, kiddo," the man said, putting his hand on Light's shoulder before Light could protest at all. "I really owe you one!"

Light could have said a lot of smarter things in response. What he really wanted to say was, "You're a criminal! You just murdered a man! I'm going to run off right this minute and call the police, and have you arrested, sir!"

Instead, all he could muster was, "Uh, you just, uh, shot him. You shot him."

The ugly man began to chuckle. "Yeah. Was about time that little punk got what was coming to him," he said. "Wasn't worth much to his boss anyways. Still..." He scratched his chin and leaned his head sideways to peer over Light's shoulder. "They'll be sending out some guys to try and find him soon. You'd best be coming with me, pal."

He grabbed Light's arm, and gave a grin. His teeth were as yellow as his disgusting eyes.

"Um, go _where_?" Light said, grimacing, struggling weakly to get away.

"My club. Hey, we'll be safe there," said the man. "C'mon, kiddo. You don't wanna get shot like him, do ya?" 

Light shook his head very vigorously.

"Then come with _me_, if you know what's good for you," said the man, chuckling as he pulled Light along. "I tell you what, kid, there's weird things about, at night."

Tell me about it, Light thought sourly as the man called a cab and ushered Light within, once one was found.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the street lights filling the cab with a copper-yellow light, the air unusually quiet for a night in the city. It seemed like it was just Light, the ugly man, and the cabbie on the streets that night, but cars very quickly began to appear outside the windows.

Finally, Light gulped, gaining the courage to speak. "Uh, sir?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind, uh, telling me your name?"

The man, with his yellow eyes and teeth, grinned. "The name's Ryuk," he said, offering a leather-gloved hand. "Walter Ryuk. Dealer of fine liquors and desserts. 'course, that's just my _day_ job." He snickered at his own joke, if it even was a joke to begin with. "How about you, kiddo? Got a name?"

"Light. Light Yagami," Light replied, not shaking Ryuk's hand and still feeling extremely uneasy.

"Light, huh? That's an interesting name you've got, there," he said, taking back his hand and putting it in his jacket pocket. "Well, Light, you have my gratitude."

"I... do?" said Light.

"Yeah, sure!" Ryuk continued. "Sure, I made quick work of that chump back in the alley; but I would-a been in trouble if you hadn't come and pulled him off me first. So, you have my gratitude." He reached into his jacket, searching for something. "So, anything you need done?"

"Need... done?" Light said.

Ryuk found a flask in his jacket, and uncapped it. "Yeah, you know. Somebody you need rid of? Debts that need paying? Anything you want." He took a long sip of whatever was within the flask, and contentedly smacked his fat lips afterwards. He then offered it to Light.

"Oh, no thanks," Light said quickly, and Ryuk pocketed the flask with a shrug. "Honestly, Mr. Ryuk-"

"Just call me Ryuk, kiddo."

"Okay," Light said, furrowing his brow. "Ryuk. I... honestly don't think that I can, well... You're a _very_ generous man, and-"

Ryuk began to laugh. "Afraid to take favors from guys like me, I see," he said. "No problem, kid, I've met folks like you before. Well, the least I can do is buy you a drink."

"Actually," Light said, getting an idea, "could you bring me to my apartment? Really, I'd appre-"

"Not before a drink!" Ryuk said, clapping Light on the shoulder. "C'mon kid, on me. Won't get better service at my club."

Light sensed he was fighting a losing battle. Well, at the most he could just order a soda―he hated being drunk. It would keep him from having his wallet stolen by any questionable characters (and he suspected that there would be) in Ryuk's club. "I suppose," he said.

"Atta boy!" Ryuk said, gesturing cheerfully with his hand. "If I know one thing, kid, it's that you never pass up an opportunity to a free drink. You'll always regret it later, if you pass it up."

"I'm sure, sir," Light said, attempting as best he could to sink into the back of his seat.

Ryuk's club was an unexpectedly nice-looking one, the name of which was "Eden's Apple." The interior was all gilt and wooden, and full of laughter and jazz music and cigarette smoke and beautiful and ugly women. Light was a bit overwhelmed.

"Up here," Ryuk said, motioning towards the back of the club, and Light followed. Men bowed slightly as Ryuk walked past, saying things like, "Good evening, boss," and "Lovely weather tonight, boss."

One flight of narrow, lamp-lit stairs later, and Light found himself in a vast lounge, decorated by polished wood and plush seats. Ryuk took off his jacket and threw it over the side of one of the couches, undoing the first button of his collar, and sighing satisfiedly.

"Welcome to my base," he said, and laughed. "Now, how 'bout that drink?"

"Y-yes, of course, sir," Light said, his eyes flying from corner to corner of the lavish room. City lights gleamed beyond an enormous sheet of glass that made up one of the walls. "Should I, uh, take off my coat?"

"Do whatever you want," Ryuk said warmly, proceeding to a granite-countered bar and searching for something behind it. "_Mi casa es su casa._"

Light didn't speak Spanish, and neither did Ryuk. Light spoke French, German, and Latin. Ryuk just spoke English.

Light took off his coat anyways and neatly folded it on the arm of a nearby couch.

"Ah, here we are," Ryuk said, producing a cut glass decanter of amber-colored liquid. "Here, have some of this."

"Uh, what is... that?" Light said, as Ryuk took out two glasses and filled them with ice cubes from a bucket.

"My specialty cider," Ryuk replied, pouring a generous amount of the liquid in one of the glasses. "I have it made in my own facilities. Own the very orchards these apples grow on."

He poured the cider into the second glass, and it shone like honey and sin in the lamplight. "Very special orchard, these apples're from. You know why?" Light shook his head. "Grown near a cemetery, these are. You know that the reddest, most delicious apples grow off the guts of corpses?"

Light shook his head as Ryuk laughed and approached him with the glasses. They seemed filled with more sin than honey, at that point. "Well, now you know! Don't worry, it doesn't taste bad at all," Ryuk said, and thrust one of the glasses into Light's hand. "So, a toast to... goodwill, huh?"

"Uh, yes. Goodwill," Light said, and uneasily lifted his glass, where Ryuk clinked it enthusiastically and drained his glass of cider, with great relish. "Ah! Hey, Light. Why don't you have some?"

"Oh, I'd much rather have a Coke, if you have some..." Light said, attempting to stash the glass of cemetery cider on a small table. "Rum and Coke, if you insi-"

"No way! I insist, have some cider," Ryuk said, slapping Light on the back. It was too hard a slap to be friendly. "The drink's on me, fella."

Gulping, Light lifted the glass. "All right, uh, just one sip," he said, and hesitantly let the cider touch his lips.

It tasted like apples, but oh, so much more was in that cider.

It tasted like apples and cinnamon, warm cinnamon buns like his mother used to make when he was a child. There were pears and peaches in there, too, and pumpkin, bumbling on along after the thin, fruit flavors like a dumpling floating in a soup.

It tasted of desire and good times, and of longing, and oh, just oh so slightly, of that flirtatious sin that had teasingly glinted through the cider and the ice.

Light very quickly finished his glass, and found himself wanting more.

"Good, eh?" Ryuk said, and went to go get the decanter. "Best stuff in the world, I say."

"Oh, yes sir," Light said, a note of eagerness in his voice as he leaned against one of the couches, placing his glass on the coffee table. Ryuk poured more; first for himself, and then for Light. "Another toast, Ryuk?"

"Why not?" Ryuk said, and raised his glass. "You do the honors."

Light stood, and thought for a moment. "To you, Ryuk. To you."

"Cheers," Ryuk said, and they clinked glasses. This time, Light was more than happy to sip at the cider, and its cinnamon-sin taste. "Well, now. Shall we sit?"

"Don't see why not," Light said, feeling immensely satisfied with himself. So it really did pay off to be a Good Samaritan, especially if you got fantastic company and drink, such as this. He sat confidently, leaning back and squeaking a little in the black leather.

"So, Light. Tell me about yourself," Ryuk said, brandishing his glass.

And Light, who fancied himself a fantastic drinker, lost his self-control to the ravages of Ryuk's amazing cider. His mind had gone dancing, nestled close into the bosom of the cider's tough.

It seemed that almost no time had passed at all, when Light found himself elaborating on one of his favorite, most secret of subjects: moral decay.

Reporters weren't allowed to have opinions. Opinions were reserved as a privilege of the writers of advice columns, and editorials.

With nothing but Ryuk and the sweet, sweet cider around, however, Light didn't care that he wasn't allowed to have an opinion. Anyways, wasn't the newspaper business why the First Amendment was created, in the first place?

"This whole damn place is going to the dogs, Ryuk," he bemoaned, well into his fourth glass of cider. "Everywhere you look, what do you see? Prostitutes, delinquents, gangs, the mob―not that you're trash, Ryuk. You're a good guy."

"Thanks muchly, friend," Ryuk said, grinning with his yellow teeth.

"The rest of 'em all can just go to hell..." Light said, frowning. "Like this one guy. What's his name?" He thought, discontentedly. "Oh yeah. This guy, Takuo. The bastard."

"Huh, who's that?" said Ryuk.

"Some hooligan," Light replied. He drank. "He treats the women like trash an' drinks, an' rides around on that godawful motorcycle of his. Hangs around downtown, I see him all the time."

He stared at the cut glass, shining in the light. "See, 'speople like him that make the world so awful these days. I can't stand it."

Ryuk looked, surprisingly thoughtfully, at the young man before him. "You think the would'd be better off without guys like Takuo?"

"Absolutely," Light said. "I mean... just yesterday, I saw him copping a feel on some poor girl in the street. I mean!" He placed his glass down, rather forcefully, on the coffee table. He wasn't in the mood for any more drink. "Can't a guy have some shame?"

"Agreed," Ryuk said, in his rough voice. "No class at all."

"Damn right," Light said, and sat forward, with his chin balanced on his hand. "It's just... depressing. Cops aren't doing a thing about it, either."

"'To Protect and Serve' is what they say, right?" said Ryuk, and laughed a sandpaper laugh. "Some serving they're doing."

"Yeah, really. Makes me almost wanna be a cop..." Light said. The cider had taken his mind, gently, by the hand, and was now leading it into the twilight of sleepiness. His eyelids drooped. "I'd make sure none of that would happen... Get guys like Takuo out... out of here... M'too much of a coward, though..."

"What would you do if, say, Takuo never showed up downtown again?"

Light closed his eyes. "Nothing at all," he replied. "It would be... nice."

"Then consider tomorrow a nice day, kiddo," Ryuk said, as Light fell asleep there.

He grinned, with his moon-yellow teeth. He had an excellent idea on how to repay this Light Yagami. An excellent idea indeed.


	2. Graphite Promises

Light woke up on the next morning, a Saturday, grateful that he only had to be at work for a few short hours in the afternoon.

The reason being was that the cider was a cruel mistress to his mind, indeed; seducing it, bedding it, then knocking it about the head with a hammer and taking all its money.

Luckily for Light, his wallet had not been emptied at all, but his head was another matter entirely.

He couldn't even remember how, exactly, he had gotten home after falling asleep in Ryuk's club (that much he could assume). Was it Ryuk's doing?

Light shivered at the thought of the stringy, leather-skinned man carrying him like a baby to his apartment and tucking him in, and convinced himself that he had been driven home.

Driven home, and nothing more.

Somebody must have turned his space heater on while he was sleeping, because the air was warm as he slipped out of bed. It took a great deal of mental effort to convince himself that it was his _own_ doing, and not Ryuk's, as he fetched some aspirin from the bathroom and took a shower.

The quicker he forgot about the whole business with Ryuk, the better.

It disappointed him to no end when he found that his refrigerator was lacking milk, when he went to make himself some breakfast. He then suddenly remembered just why, exactly, he had been out the previous night—it was to get milk from the grocery store.

So, hungry, he turned off the space heater and felt the air grow cold as he set out to follow through on his trip to the grocery, waiting for the aspirin to kick in.

It was around 10 AM when Light asked himself how, exactly, his wallet's contents had gone from no more than $100 to $1000.

He didn't hide his surprise very well, as he discovered this while paying for the milk, a loaf of bread, and a pound of coffee—but managed to get the items paid for without mishap.

Was this also Ryuk's doing? He wondered as he walked home, flipping through the new contents of his wallet in an almost morbid curiosity.

The smell of delinquency hit his nose, a smell of cigarettes and black leather.

A boy (no older than 17 or 18, by his estimation) put his cigarette out with his shoe and stepped in Light's way. "What's that y'got there, bucko?" he said.

"Nothing," Light said, attempting to sound cool and continue on. The boy and his leather buddies refused him that. "Will you let me go home? Please?"

Light's nervousness grew when the boy shook his head, saying something that Light all but should have expected: "We charge a certain… fee, for gettin' past us," he said. "How 'bout we take a look in that wallet o'yours and see if you can make a sufficient payment?"

Light gulped, his blood running like cold water through his veins.

He then did something that, only the day before, he would have considered colossally stupid.

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't mess with me, kid," he said, in a voice that was barely his own. "I'm with Ryuk."

The delinquents looked amongst themselves, slightly taken aback, before chuckling all together. "You think we're some kind of stupid?" one of them said. "No way some square like you'd even _know_ who Ryuk is."

Light gulped again, and began to nervously search in his wallet. Never in his life would did he imagine that he would be so desperate for a sign of Ryuk's involvement with his personal life and belongings.

"So y'_don't_ know Ryuk," the head delinquent said. "Yeah, you'd _better_ pay up."

There was a flash of white ink on dark paper, and Light found it hard to restrain his glowing smile into simply a self-satisfied smirk. "Absolutely not," he said, and proudly displayed Ryuk's business card for all of them to see. They paled. "Please leave me be."

The boys nervously looked at each other, and then at their "fearless" leader, who currently looked rather ill. "L-let's scram, you guys," he finally said. "It's not worth it, anyways."

And scram they did, leaving Light sweating and panting in relief as he looked over Ryuk's business card for, oddly enough, the first time.

It was printed on black paper, with glossy white ink that almost seemed to glimmer softly as he turned it about.

"Walter Ryuk: Seller of Fine Liquors and Desserts," the card proclaimed, in a perfect echo of what Ryuk had told the night before in the taxi, along with the address and phone number of Eden's Apple.

He turned the card over and over, before barely noticing the shine of graphite on the bare back. Squinting, he read: "Call me up if you ever need me. -WR."

Light shivered, just slightly, and hastily put the card away, but in a spot where he could find it easily, should the need ever arise. Not that it would, anyways.

Best not to think of Ryuk for a while, he reasoned, and continued on his way.

He didn't want to go harming his reputation any further; he was treading on dangerous ground already.

After breakfast, his headache mercifully gone since his encounter with the leather-and-cigarette boys, he unlocked his bicycle from the front of the apartment building and rode downtown to the newspaper building. He'd just have to check in for a bit, then he could get some lunch and enjoy himself for the weekend.

Unfortunately, his weekend was to be far from enjoyable.

The newspaper office was a flurry of action and noise when he entered, after taking the elevator up from the lobby, with a few nervous secretaries scurrying around in their pastel-colored suits and garishly bright scarves. Being the polite young man that he was, he tapped one on the shoulder before asking her a question. "Excuse me, but what's going on?" he asked.

"Oh, dear, dear," she twittered, clutching her manila folders to her blouse. "There was a _murder_ outside, didn't you see?"

Light shook his head slowly. "A murder...? Outside the newspaper building?" He didn't see so much as one policeman on his way up...

"Well, not exactly _outside_ it," the woman continued, her eyes darting upward. Light had to resist the urge to sigh. Women and their habit for stretching the truth... "It was just down the street, on the corner. Somebody was shot!"

"Shot?"

"On one of those motorbike things, no less..." the woman said. She chewed on an apple-colored nail, and called over her shoulder. "Sylvia, who was the one that got shot, again?"

A rather mousy woman, with brown hair falling in curly wisps about her ears, stopped for a moment to think, a large pile of files in her arms. "Takua... Taku-something?" she said, haltingly. "He was the one that was always bothering us at lunch."

"Oh, that Takuo boy!" The woman with the apple-colored nails rolled her eyes. "I say good riddance, anyways, he was nothing but a pig."

"Amen," said Sylvia, who quickly went on her way with her files.

Light's stomach felt like it had been dipped into a bucket of freezing water. "Takuo Shibuimaru...?" he said slowly.

The apple-nailed woman pointed a finger in a gesture of recognition. "Oh, that's the name," she said. "Why, did you know him?" Her eyes grew cold with distrust.

Light very, very quickly shook his head. "No, no, not at all. I just heard his name around, what with all the trouble he'd been getting into..."

Her eyes lost their ice, and she gave a sugary smile. "I see, I see. My, look at the time, I really must be running... What with all the commotion going on..." Quickly, she hobbled away on her stilettos, and Light cautiously made his way to the editor's desk.

No, no, it was just a coincidence, he told himself frantically, trying to keep calm. The kid was a delinquent, of course he'd get shot, things like this happen all the time-

"Yagami! You look troubled. What's eating you?"

The editor, a rather burly man with a mustache that might have been Charlie Chaplin's in a past life, leaned with his arm against his desk. His face was that of a skeptic's, and set in a nearly permanent smirk. Light shook his head. "Oh, uh, just kinda... shocked about the murder, I guess," he replied, not entirely lying.

"Ah, yeah, the Shibuimaru thing," said the editor. He tucked a pencil in his hand, held like a cigarette, behind his ear. He looked out the window in an almost inspirational manner. "It's really something, you'll never guess who the cops think's behind it."

Light had to resist the urge to gulp. "Who?" he said, almost conversationally.

"Georges Jealous. Ain't that something?" He took the pencil out of his ear and held it in his hand again. He kept it poised near his mouth, as if he were ready to take out a match and light it at any time. "He's been clean for months, that Jealous."

"Huh, that's something," Light said, trying to decide whether his brain should explode with internal screams, or if all the stress should evaporate in a sigh of relief. He knew that this should have calmed him, and yet, there was a very small and insistent voice in his mind chanting Ryuk's name, over and over, like some demented ghoul.

"Yeah, it really is. They should be arresting him soon, or at least trying to find out who he got to do it," the editor continued. "Still, they ain't got a motive; but there's evidence."

"Evidence?"

"Earring thing. You know, Jealous' boys all got their faces pierced somewhere," he added, chewing on the eraser of his pencil. "Downright weird, if you ask me."

"Sure is, sir," Light replied automatically, wishing dearly for the conversation to end. "Er, so, is there anything for me to to do today?"

"You? Nah." The pencil returned behind the ear again, the eyes still never making contact. "It's Sunday, after all. Go have some fun. You gotta go cover that museum opening on Tuesday, though."

"Right, right," Light said, his feet beginning to move quite beyond his control. "Well, I'm, uh, going off to lunch. Say hello to your wife for me, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," came the distracted reply, as the pencil was removed from the ear for the second time. Light quickly got out of the newspaper room, and was on his bike and pedaling towards Eden's Apple, feeling like he was about to vomit when he passed the remains of a bike and a man on the side of the street, with blood and onlookers everywhere.

Despite all his most logical reasonings, there was a terrible and sickening thought in the base of his stomach, and he needed more than just word of mouth and gut feeling to make it go away.

Eden's Apple seemed far less glamorous by daylight. It was a rather drab-looking building, right on the corner of a downtown street, with gold letters shining dully above the entrance without lights to aid the glitz. Light, with unusual recklessness, leaned his bike against the front and knocked on the door. Nobody answered.

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He entered.

The bar was free of people, feeling odd in its emptiness. Free of people, that is, save for a black woman with a blue paisley scarf on her head, idly wiping a cup, and a hulking square of a man near the door that Light remembered led up to Ryuk's private lounge.

He took another deep breath. He advanced. The bartender glared at him almost condescendingly as he passed.

The square of a man was even larger close up. He did not look at Light as he approached. "Um, excuse me...?" Light said, in a voice that would rival the meekness of Dorothy, as she cowered before the "Great and Powerful" Wizard of Oz.

Beady black eyes glanced down at him, but not a word was spoken.

"Um... I'd like to speak to Mr. Ryuk, please," Light said bashfully. Silence. Feeling extremely foolish, he fumbled for his wallet in his pocket, and took out Ryuk's white-on-black business card. "He gave me his card last night, see."

The square man took the card from Light's hand, turned it over in his fingers, and handed it back, stepping aside. "He's eating lunch, right now," he replied, in carefully selected and vaguely accented words. "Knock before entering."

Light nodded, taking the words truly to heart, and clinging to the business card as if it were some sort of rosary as he ascended the stairs. He knocked before entering.

"C'min!" a sandpaper voice replied.

And Light entered.

Ryuk was eating a sandwich. A particularly messy sandwich, composed primarily of lettuce, mustard, and several slices of what appeared to be radish. He waved it around, scattering crumbs and sauce all over the napkin he had tucked into his collar. He grinned.

"Well, look who decided to come back!" he said, all too good-naturedly. "Want some lunch?"

"No thanks," Light said, attempting to sound as cold as possible. Ryuk wasn't fooled.

"Eh, suit yourself," he said. "What brings you here on this sunny afternoon?"

"I... I need some answers, Ryuk," Light said, gulping in the middle of his sentence. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck.

"Ask away, kiddo," said Ryuk, heading towards the bar. He took a bite of his sandwich; crumbs flew everywhere. "You sure you don't want a sandwich while you're here, by the way?" he said, though it was barely comprehensible through the bits of sandwich in his mouth. "I make a mean sandwich..."

"Stop fooling around!" Light said. Ryuk stared at him, swallowed, and took the napkin out of his collar.

"I see you mean business then, kid," he said, wiping his mouth. "Well, what do you want to know?"

Light gulped, narrowing his eyes, and attempting to channel that malicious self-confidence that had swept over him when he had been dealing with the punks at the grocery store that morning.

What came out was a cheap imitation, but an effective one. "Were you the one that killed Takuo Shibuimaru?"

Ryuk grinned, and put the napkin on the bar. "Well, aren't you the sharpest pencil in the box!" he said.


End file.
